


Rocket Man

by indecisive (darling_highness)



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Angst, M/M, NSFW, beckwatney, theyre so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_highness/pseuds/indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Mark just... They're so in love, okay. Just. So. Fifteen thousand words doesn't even explain my love for these boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocket Man

**Author's Note:**

> This took a lot to write. I feel like I have provided you all with sin. I edited most of this, but I pooped out half the way through. I really hope you all enjoy this. Please let me know how you like it! Feel free to drop me a line in the comments or on tumblr and let me know. My tumblr is darling-highness.tumblr.com :0 thank you!

“How're those ribs feeling?” Beck inquires, looking up from his computer. He chews his lip absently, eyes drifting over Watney's form.

Mark sits hunched over the table he shares with his fellow scientist, examining and measuring the height of some ferns. His eyebrows knit together in concentration. “They hurt like a bitch, but I've survived worse.” With that he smirks. Having just spent the last year and a half on Mars, he wasn't exactly in any position to be complaining about some broken ribs.

Beck shifts in his seat and stands, closing the space between him and Mark. “Here, let me feel. You can stay sitting, I just need you to take your shirt off.”

“You just want an excuse to feel me up.”Mark notes. With his comment, he complies after a moment and slides his thin t-shirt over his head, discarding it on the table beside the plants. His ribs are still visible from months of near starvation. It's easy for Beck to relocate the broken bones as he slips his fingers over Mark's skin, feeling and pressing against the bones to feel for anything off.

Mark protests audibly, sucking in a sharp breath. “You trying to break them all over again?! Fuck!”

Chris chuckles, muttering his apology. The ribs are healing well from what he could tell. He had done a proper check the other day, but this was his excuse for fucking with Mark so much. His hands left Mark's sides and he resumed his seat. Beck props his chin in his hand, watching Mark as he put his shirt back on.

“What are you staring at?” Mark grumbles, eyeing Beck warily.

“A Martian,” he quips, eyebrows raised. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Mark responds as he bends a plastic ruler back, snapping it at Beck's fingers.

Chris flinches away before pinning the ruler to the table with his palm, chuckling as Mark tries to wrestle it away. “Move in with me.”

“What?” Mark tilts his head, attention focused more on the previous request. “Why?”

Beck yanks the ruler away from his friend and slaps the back of Mark's hand with it. “So I can take care of you.”

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Last time I checked, I was old enough to take care of myself. What sort of game are you playing at? That's my goddamn ruler, you asshole.” He swipes the measuring stick back, but not before his wrist is caught by Chris's nimble fingers. Mark points his ruler at Chris's face, eyes warning. “You are a pain in the ass.”

“Move in with me when we're back on Earth, please. Come on Watney, why not?” Chris completely ignores the accusation.

Mark shrugs. “I never said no. Why, though? Won't you and Johanssen be moving in together? Three's company, man...” He grins, pulling his wrist free and dropping his hands to his side. He honestly didn't want to have to live with them. It would be bad enough listening to them fuck up a storm in the other room.

“Okay, the twentieth century t.v jokes are getting a little old. Johanssen isn't moving in with me. We aren't a thing.”

“So all that passionate lovemaking we've been hearing doesn't make you two a thing. If I was getting fucked that good, I'd wanna stick it out.” Mark goes back to measuring his plants, typing up their growth and occasional notes with it.

“Neither of us wanted anything long term. It's been a long trip, we were both in that mood and since I thought you were dead originally I figured-- Wait, you could hear us? What the fuck, Mark! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!”

He swivels in his chair to face Chris again, abandoning his work entirely. “What does me having been dead have anything to do with it?” His expression is unreadable. Chris notices the lines on his brow have deepened since Sol six. Mark is honest to God confused by all this. Why would one thing have to do with another? What does he have to do with this?

Beck shakes his head and sighs. “It just- it did, okay? You're my best friend and I-” He fidgets, shifting around in his seat. Chris's mouth opens and closes as he struggles to find an explanation.

“Don't be ashamed. By all means, it's understandable to want to get over your best friend's death by getting laid. It's what I would have done.” A smile twinkles in Mark's eyes. He loves to tease Chris about anything and everything, and this is the perfect opportunity.

Beck shakes his head, that contagious smile spreading to his own lips. “I missed you.”

They both grin at each other. It's dorky and cute and so them. He had really missed that smile. In fact, for a while he never thought he would see it again.

Mark rises from his seat, looking down at his companion. “Hmm... Your place _is_ nice. Wouldn't mind living there. I guess if you really need me to...”

“I absolutely do,” Chris adds, nodding vigorously.

“Looks like you have a new roommate when we get back to Earth.” A smug grin passes over Mark's lips. Chris really does know how to convince him.

**

The humming is what what wakes Mark from his slumber. His skin is cold with sweat. The room is dark and the humming of an unknown machine rings in his ears. For a few moments, Mark thinks he's back in the Hab, and his heart hammers furiously against his ribs. “No,” he stutters, shaking his head. “Can't be.” His throat is tight with panic and his eyes shift around his bunk, looking for any sign that he's where he thinks he is. It takes a moment for his head to clear. He finally takes notice of the other, occupied, bunk in the room. It isn't filled with dirt, but a sleeping figure. That's right. He isn't on Mars anymore. He's back on the Hermes with his crew, in Beck's quarters. There Beck is, sleeping about a meter away from where Mark sits. He calms slightly, inhaling slowly through his nose. His hands are still trembling when he looks at them, the bed groaning as he shifts. There's more noise, but not from his bed.

“Mmm... Mark?” A bleary voice inquires. Beck is awake, but barely. He's a light sleeper from what Mark remembered. “Whassa' matter?” His words are slurred with fatigue.

“Nothing,” Mark replies. “Go back to sleep. You need your beauty rest.” His voice comes out meek, wavering more than he hoped. The anxiety he's feeling hasn't totally subsided, and Beck takes notice.

He sounds more awake when he speaks again. “Bad dream?”

“Something like that.” Mark sighs, shaking the thoughts out of his head. He can see Beck sitting up in bed from the corner of his eye.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Shaking his head in response, Mark sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. The sweat beading across his forehead makes his skin slick. “Nothing to talk about. Just thought I was still back on Mars.” He laughs. It's a short huff of air that speaks distress more than pleasure.

“Mark, you're shaking. I can see it from here,” Beck sighs. “Let me help. I'm a doctor. Please.”

Silence follows. Mark says nothing, he just grips the sheets on his bed, staring at the blanket over his knees.

“Just be my friend for a while,” he whispers. “Don't need any stupid doctor right now...”

Then, Beck is settling himself on the edge of Mark's bunk, scooting his feet so he can sit cross legged in front of Mark. Beck's hand settles on Mark's bicep, squeezing it gently to try and comfort his friend. Mark brings his gaze up to meet Chris's, acknowledging him before dropping it again.

“This isn't the first night it's happened. 's just worse than usual.” Mark shrugs. “I'd rather forget about that God forsaken wasteland I almost died on.” Beck's hand on his arm grounds his thought a little. The weight of it helps him acknowledge that this is real, that he's alive and almost home.

“We're almost there, Mark. We'll be back on Earth in less than a week. Why don't us and the rest of the crew go out for a couple drinks when we get back? I know the Captain still owes you a beer.”

Another laugh breaks at Mark's lips, his breath wavering. His throat is tight with the threat of tears and he's shaking again when he says, “I'll need a hell of a lot more than just a beer.”

Fat tears well in Mark's eyes and he sniffs and tries to blink them away, cursing under his breath when they roll down his cheeks. His breath is hitching with sobs, shoulders tense and the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. Beck's hands slide to his shoulders and pull Mark into a snug embrace. It's awkward with the way they're sitting, but Mark shifts onto his knees and wraps his arms around Chris's waist, face pressed into the crook of his neck. He can feel Beck's chin on top of his head and his hands running up and down his back. Mark curls his fingers into the fabric of his friend's shirt and cries, stifling the sounds against Beck's shirt until he calms down, drowsy from the sobs and a lack of sleep. His heart leaps when he really put together the situation he's in. Here he is, wrapped up in Beck's arms. Being held by this... gorgeous man. The one he's been attracted to for ages now. This is the the most intimate moment they have yet to share and it makes the hairs on Mark's neck stand on end.

Mark shifts a little and Beck loosens his arms around him. He wipes the tears off his cheeks and sniffs, sighing heavily. “Sorry, man... I...” Again he sighs rather than providing a proper excuse.

Beck's fingers comb through his disheveled hair a few times. “It's fine. Do you feel any better? Need some water or somethin'?”

“I'm alright,” Mark mutters, lifting his head to look at Chris. Their faces are close, so close Mark can feel Beck's breath on his cheek. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he smiles tenderly. His hand lingers at the crook of Mark's neck. “Get some sleep, alright?”

Mark nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Beck hesitates for a moment, looking as if he's pondering something more, but leaves Mark for his own bunk instead. “Sleep well.”

Mark can't help the slight pang of emptiness in his gut when Beck goes.

“You too.”

**

The first night they're back on Earth, the entire Ares 3 crew is absolutely shitfaced by 11 o'clock. The team sustained a shit load of congratulations from everyone at NASA, expressed through a massive celebration in Miami that would be broadcast all over the world to celebrate their safe return.

It's half past 1 in the morning when Mark and Beck stumble into the hotel room Teddy set them up in.

Mark flops down on the closest bed, groaning. He doesn't even bother to take his shoes off. All he wants to do is sleep. His brain is fuzzy, worn out and buzzed with alcohol.

“Mmmmm.... Maaaaaark.” Beck groans. “I wanted that bed.”

“Fuck you,” Mark groans. He swats behind him in the general direction of Beck's voice. “Get your own bed.”

A while later, Mark wakes up again. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he'd slept for the better part of 3 hours. Beck is sprawled out on the same bed just in his boxers, one leg on top of the covers and the other beneath. It'd probably be a good idea for Mark to do the same, so he strips his clothes off slowly. His mind is still foggy so it takes a great deal of effort. Then he's slipping under the covers next to Beck, and the second his head hits the pillow he can feel sleep coming over him.

**

Mark needs to do an EVA to clean the solar panels. It was a usual routine, but this time something felt different. He hadn't noticed before, but when he looked down he realized didn't have his space suit on. It took him a while to register, and only did he feel the affects of the near vacuum when he looked upon on his suitless body, hands bare and bluish in the freezing atmosphere. He started to choke, the air completely ripped from his lungs. His head pounded and ached and his lungs burned as he fell to his knees gasping for air--

He sits up in bed with a start, gasping for air. In bed. There was _air_ more importantly. Chris is there. It was just a dream. Mark had rolled onto his stomach in the night. A fluffy pillow was the cause of his near asphyxiation, the thing that triggered the dream. He glares at the assailant in shocked silence. Pale rays of light tumbled through the curtains onto the carpeted floor. They reached for the edges of the bed, not quite there to rouse them yet.

“Fuck,” he whispers, unable to help the low groan that crawls from his throat. His head pounds with a miserable hangover and his tongue feels like sandpaper. In an attempt to get out of bed, Mark falls to the floor, sheets tangled around his legs. He curses some more and checks to see if Beck is still asleep. He hasn't stirred much except to scratch his nose.

Mark trudges away from the bed to the miniature fridge in the kitchenette, cracking the seal to some outrageously priced water and downing the entire thing in a couple swallows. He drops the empty bottle into the rubbish bin and slips into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He leaves the lights off, not wanting to aggravate his migraine any more than is necessary. Water drips from the end of his nose and eyelashes as he stands over the sink, taking slow breaths to keep from hyperventilating. Mark fumbles for a towel and scrubs the plush fabric over his face to catch the remaining moisture.

“Mark?” A soft voice calls from the room. Beck is awake. Damn it.

“Aw shit,” he sighs. Leaning out of the bathroom, he catches sight of Beck staring at him. The light from the bathroom hits his face, his tired blue eyes searching Mark's. “Hey there handsome. Sleep well?” Mark tries a smile.

Beck sighs, rolling on to his back. “Why the fuck are you up so early? Come back to bed,” he groans.

“Are you still drunk?” Mark asks, shuffling out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

“Mm. A little.” Beck mumbles.

Mark climbs on to the bed and when he does Beck curls in towards him, resting his head on his arm. He peers up at Mark, eyebrows raised. “Why do you look so upset? 'Nother bad dream?”

Mark nods. He hadn't realized he looked so miserable. Actually, he thought he hid it quite well. His poker face was never the best, though, so it isn't much of a surprise.

Beck pats the bed. “C'mere. Lay down so I can just- why are you so far away? C'mere!” He slings his arm around Mark by his waist and drags him in close, wrapping his other arm around Mark's shoulders. Mark's face presses against Beck's shoulder and he adjusts so he can breathe. When he lifts his head, Beck pulls their chests together and squeezes Mark in a tight hug. “You aren't on Mars anymore, 'kay? I'm here for ya, buddy. 'm here.”

So Beck is a cuddly drunk. “Why are you still so fucking drunk anyway?” Mark chuckles, clapping a hand against Beck's back.

Shrugging, he replies, “I drank a lot. Alcohol takes a while to cycle through your blood. It takes one and a half hours to burn off-”

“I am way too tired to hear math right now, so don't even try, mr. smart guy.”

Beck nuzzles his face into the crook of Mark's neck, his stubble scratching against soft skin. “That's doctor smart guy,” he corrects with a sigh. “You smell really good, Watney.”

A flush of warmth crosses Mark's face as Beck's lips brush over his neck, chaste and tingling. “Are you coming on to me? This is crossing some lines, Chris. Some pretty gay ones.” He laughs.

“Hey, you know I'm not straight. Don't insult me with such accusations,” Beck mocks an offended tone. “What would you do if I were, though? Coming on to you, I mean.”

“Fall asleep, probably. Which is exactly what I'm about to do.” With that, Mark rolls over so his back is to Beck and pulls a pillow under his head.

“No, Maaaaarrrrrk! You're supposed to flirt with me!!” He whines, grabbing Mark's shoulder and shaking him. “Be more cliché, damn it!”

“Good _night_ , Beck,” Mark hums. He can feel the defeated huff from his companion as he drifts off again.

Before he knows it, Mark is up again, being shaken awake by Johanssen. The whole crew is there as well as Teddy Sanders and Venkat Kapoor. Something's different though. Teddy and Venkat aren't in their usual work clothes. Teddy is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki cargo shorts. Venkat is dressed similarly with a sky blue tee and some shorts and sandals.

“You guys got a room with two beds for a reason, you know,” Johanssen teases. Mark's attention is drawn back to her.

“Couldn't stand to be apart from your best friend for a couple hours, Watney?” Commander Lewis chimes in.

Mark raises his eyebrows, a grin spreading over his lips. “Hey, I was here first. Fucking Beck wouldn't take the other bed for whatever weird reason, so I had to play nice and share.” He shrugs. Looking around, he sees Beck is already up and dressed, so Mark does the same and throws on the pair of jeans and t-shirt they provided him with yesterday. He had chosen that outfit to keep at NASA for when he returned, which was supposed to be over two years earlier. The pants hang loose around his hips, so he draws his belt a notch tighter than he usually would. The weight would come back eventually. For now, he was more concerned with what was happening. “So I know we had something to do this morning, but I can't remember what the hell it is.”

Teddy clears his throat and smiles. “We thought we'd take you out for breakfast. It'll be your first real meal in the past two years, so why not make it fun? We have reservations, so we can't stand here talking all day, unfortunately.”

Mark shrugs. Breakfast sounds great right about now. His head is still aching, so the less talking the better. “That's fine by me. Onwards, to breakfast!”

The gang leaves the hotel and they're met outside by a series of 3 black cars. Mark eyes them warily, his heart already thumping just thinking about being stuck in one of those. His mind is drawn back to the rover and how claustrophobic it was. He, Beck, and the commander pile in to one car with Mark in the front and Beck and Lewis in the back. There's a chauffeur there to escort them to their destination. Mark drums his fingers on the control strip of the door, worrying his lower lip. The air feels dry and artificial compared to the comfortable humidity of Miami. He hasn't been in an enclosed space since last night, but that was only the helicopter ride from the cape to Miami after the welcoming ceremony to the return bash. A car was different. They're driving now, and Mark is starting to feel dizzy. The air conditioning is blowing on his face but it's making things worse. He lowers the window and leaned his head out a little, inhaling the moist air. He doesn't want to think but all he can seem to do is wander back to the rover and the Hab and, well, hell.

“You alright there, Mark?” Commander Lewis pats his shoulder.

Beck chimes in when Mark says nothing. “He's had trouble with enclosed spaces since we got him back. I think he's experiencing post traumatic stress.”

“I don't have a disorder,” Mark snaps. In all honesty, Mark isn't even sure he would believe that at this point. “I'm just a sensitive guy s'all.”

The rest of the ride is silent, but it doesn't last long to everyones relief. The caravan of cars sidles up in front of a modern looking restaurant surrounded by a series of palm trees serving as decoration. They're wrapped in strings of lights that would flicker to life when it got dark. Mark can tell the place is sitting right on the beach, judging by the sand on the sidewalk and the salt in the air. He regards the sand beneath his feet with a wary look. At least it's not Martian sand. Earth sand sucks less. They shuffle inside and are beckoned by a lady clad in black through the indoor tables cluttered with families and couples. Eyes turn on the group of people, recognition fleeting through the crowd. Some smile, others whistle. One person even shouts “Welcome back!”. The hostess leads them on to the back deck where their table is. It's situated right over the pale sand and a series of umbrellas shade them from an aggressive sun. Teddy sits at the head of the table with Venkat to his right, and the crew sits wherever. Mark sits at the other end of the table so he can still see the ocean, and Beck and Martinez sit near him. He hadn't seen that much water in years. The sight works a relieved smile onto his lips.

A cheery waitress comes over and introduces herself. Her pink lips stretch into a wide grin. She passes around menus, and when she reaches Mark, her smile turns genuine. “It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Watney. Welcome back to Earth. My son absolutely adores you,” she gushes. “He wants to be an astronaut, just like you.”

Mark laughs slightly. “It's a good job. Hopefully he'll be a luckier astronaut than I am.”

Eventually, after minutes of this woman spewing her life's story, she leaves to get their drinks so everyone has time to order their food. Everything on the menu looks great.

Aside from the potatoes, honestly. Fuck the potatoes.

Mark settles on a fat stack of pancakes with fresh fruit and sausage, because why not? He drank most of his orange juice the second it reached his mouth, and he's eyeing the French press in front of Martinez's dining set.

“I'm commandeering some of your coffee,” Mark states, flipping the coffee mug he has upright to fill it with coffee. The smell hits him like a fond memory and he can't help but groan.

“No problem, man. Take as much as you want.” Martinez smiles, patting Watney's forearm, strong hands tender in the greeting.

The group is happy in talking about anything and everything, regaling tales of the mission they just returned from. They're heroes. The world has been rooting for them since day one. Mark is content sipping on champagne and watching people prance about the beach. He doesn't participate in the conversation much, hardly even listening. His mind drifts back to Mars, leaving him in the present to see the past. A shiver runs up his spine. No. Not now. He's with his friend now. With people. He never has to go back to that shitty ball of rock. Eyes falling on Beck, he drags his thoughts back to Earth. Beck is watching him. When their eyes meet his lips stretch into a soft smile.

“You okay?” He mouths. Mark nods, smiles.

“The alcohol and coffee helps,” he replies aloud, raising the flute of champagne in his hand.

Beck laughs, tilting his head back.

Their food arrives, platters of dishes falling into procession with the original waitress and two waiters. The plates are distributed, along with two fresh presses of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice. The table is covered with delicious meals, vibrant colours and interesting designs pleasing the eye. They even managed to spruce up Mark's pancakes, garnishing them with strawberries and a slab of butter. The bowl of fruit is immaculate to boot, looking perfect beside his pancakes and champagne. Mark heaves a content sigh. Real food. It looks even more delectable than he remembers.

The lot of them tuck in, and Johanssen, Martinez, and Vogel continue to chat, making jokes that cause the table to laugh around mouthfuls of breakfast. It all feels right. Being back with his friends. On a planet where he can actually survive. Mark's eyes keep drifting to Beck, lingering some times. His smile is contagious every time he laughs at one of Martinez's jokes, and Mark finds himself smiling along.

“Hey, Mark!” Johanssen calls. “Quit ogling Beck and look at me for a second.”

Mark laughs and bows his head before turning his gaze to Beth.

She lifts her fork towards him and on the tines is a roasted potato, a piece of onion and burnt garlic sticking to its skin. “Potato?”

“Oh, fuck you! I think I might just kill someone if I have to eat another one of those disgusting tubers,” he chuckles, tilting his head back in a full bodied laugh. The entire table bursts into fits of laughter, especially Johanssen.

As the group winds down with the end of their meal, people reclining in the wicker chairs, Mark sighs contentedly. The champagne has him happily buzzed, and he isn't the only one.

“Hey,” Venkat speaks up, “why don't we go for a walk on the beach?” A few people protest with lazy groans, but they don't fight it. “It'll be fun. Get up, get up!”

Venkat and Teddy cover the bill and everyone files down the rough steps of the patio onto the pale sand. Martinez and Lewis get into a game of shoving each other and bolt across the sand, shoes kicked off and in hand. They're screaming and laughing as they run for the water. Mark races Beck and Johanssen to the shore, kicking sand up in his wake. He feels good. Better than he has in a while. There's a smile plastered on his face and sand between his toes and salt in the air. He relishes the feel of the winds fingers in his hair and then--

Then there's sand in his mouth. He trips over a rock, flying face first into the ground. A groan falls from his lips as he pushes himself up again, wiping the sand off his cheek.

Hysterical laughter erupts from Beck and he's bent at the waist, shaking with his giggling. “Isn't it a little early to be drunk?” he asks between gasps.

“Nah, I'm just clumsy,” he counters. Mark scrambles to his feet and runs to Beck, trying to shove him over. His hands are captured and Beck pushes him back. Now they're engaged in a standing wrestling match and Martinez comes over to drag a circle around them into the sand. Mark captures his companion in a headlock and drags him towards the water, laughing maniacally as Beck struggles and shouts words of protest. He digs his feet into the sand, slapping Mark's bicep.

“Mark!! Truce, truce!” He cries, gripping to Mark's torso as he's dipped down towards the approaching tide.

Straightening, Mark releases Beck from his merciless hold. He grins coyly and bolts up the beach to catch up with everyone else, beckoning his companion.

**

Later that evening the Ares 3 crew mulls around Beth and Commander Lewis's hotel suite, drinking whiskey and picking through the room service menu. Few words are shared amongst them while Vogel talks to his family over the hotel landline. Mark is at the railing of the balcony, only half aware of the voices drifting through the open doors behind him. He admires the colours of the sunset on the waves of the ocean, glittering red and orange in the final burning minutes of day. A sense of anxiety pools dull in the pit of his stomach, and he tries to ignore it, to make his mind blank. Tomorrow he's being flown to Houston with Chris. Home. He's going home. End of the line. He and Chris. Together. His heart flutters at the thought of not having to return to an empty apartment. In reality, when Beck asked him to move in with him, he could have cried with joy. He didn't want to be too obvious about how happy the proposal made him, and it seemed to work. He had contemplated moving back in with his parents before that day. At least for a while, so he wouldn't be alone again. Even the thought of being alone makes his heart clench in his chest. A year and a a half spent in isolation fucks with your psyche, and Mark has had a hard time coping with it. He brings the tumbler in his hand to his lips, taking a gulp of the amber liquid within it. He never drank to get drunk, but it's seemed like a better option as of late. He's shaken from his thoughts by the tender brush of fingers over his wrist.

Beck stands beside him, staring at him with pensive gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff.” Mark manages a smile. “Being stranded on Mars, the ever prevalent fear of enclosed spaces. My mom. Just normal things.”

“You're worried about the flight tomorrow, aren't you,” he states.

Mark laughs dryly, shrugging one shoulder. “At the moment, I would rather walk back to Texas than get in a fucking plane.” He sighs and rests his elbows on the railing, pulling his gaze from Beck and back to the ocean. He stares at people milling along the shore, biting his cheek to not go completely overboard and start shouting like a Baptist about all the things he would rather do than get in an airplane.

“Think of it this way: you get to see your parents tomorrow. Won't that be nice?”

Oh yeah. He forgot about that. There would be a stop in Chicago so they would stay the night at Mark's parents house.

All he does is shrug though.

“C'mon, Mark. Look at me. Quit brooding. Be happy! You're back on Earth! You're a hero!” Beck's hand claps down on his shoulder. He can feel the warmth of it through his shirt.

He bows his head further, muttering a petulant “nah”.

“Mark,” He tries again.

With a sigh Mark raises his head, eyebrows cocked.

“Do you trust me?” Beck shifts his weight so he's leaning against the rail.

Confusion drags Mark's eyebrows together and he straightens, facing his body towards Beck. “What kind of question is that? Of course I trust you.”

Chris nods, resting a hand on Mark's shoulder. He provides a reassuring squeeze. “You are going to be fine. Trust me. I _promise_ , Watney. I promise. I'll be with you the whole time.”

“If our plane crashes I'm punching you in the face on the way down,” Mark warns, playfully wagging his fist.

Beck laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so with the action. He looks fucking adorable as usual. “Funny. I would have taken a different path. Something... less violent, to start.”

“Oh yeah, punk? What will you do when we inevitably fall to our doom in a flying tin can?”

Beck's hand slides down Mark's arm and rests just above his elbow. “Oh, I dunno. Confess my undying love for you, probably.” A slight grin creeps over his lips. His eyes are challenging.

They're both laughing now, stupid grins on their faces. “As if I didn't know you love me already.” His tone is cocky and full of himself, more on the joking side. “In all seriousness, though.”

“When are you ever serious?” Chris counters.

Mark shrugs. “Not often. But I'm being serious when I say I am almost certain you're hitting on me.”

Chris chuckles. “Maybe I am. Can't help it with someone like you. You're just _soooo_ irresistible.”

“Aren't I? I can just feel you pining for me. You're gonna have to get in line if you want a piece of this fine ass. I got girls lined up out the door wanting a piece of me.” Mark leans his head in the direction of the hotel room, a smirk stretching his lips. He's not about to admit how hard he's been pining for Chris. As if it isn't obvious enough.

Chris looks in that direction as well. “Yep. Mhm. That's some line. Guess I'm at the front of it, eh?”

“I guess so,” Mark shrugs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Chris's jeans and pulling him closer. “What're you going to do now knowing you're the lucky man that has a chance of wooing _The_ Martian? I'm curious.” His voice is low, quiet between them. Since their faces are so close together he doesn't need to speak any louder.

Chris smirks, eyebrows raised. “Don't tease me, Mark. I don't think I can resist you for much longer now,” he feigns a pitiful tone, voice airy and low. “Back out now unless you're looking to get kissed, Mr. Martian.”

They move closer and Mark can feel Chris's breath against his face and his heart is fluttering in his chest. His hand slides up to his neck, fingers grazing through the short hairs at the back of Mark's neck. Mark's hand rests on Beck's hip. “Go ahead, handsome.” A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Beck's lips part and his eyes shut as he leans in to close the distance between them when a loud voice from inside halts them.

“Okay, fun's over, guys. I'm tired so get the hell out of our room.” Lewis makes a face when Vogel and Martinez groan in protest. “That's an order, boys.”

Beck makes an impatient sound in his throat, nails scratching lightly over Mark's skin as his hand curls into a fist. Mark shivers from the feeling. They pull apart reluctantly but quick enough that nobody noticed their proximity. Or at least didn't say anything about it.

Mark and Chris trudge back to their room after saying good night to their friends. Chris hovers close beside Mark, their fingers brushing together a couple times. Mark's mind is racing a million miles an hours, trying to figure out what just happened. What's going to happen when they're alone. Will anything happen? Maybe they just got a little in to their bluffing. It's happened to him before. Some guy he was flirting with was joking and he didn't realise it until he was being pushed away, being shouted at for kissing him. The shame from the memory colours his cheeks.

They're standing at the door of the room now. Mark fumbles with the key card, cursing under his breath as he tries again. The door clicks open with a faint _ping_ and the boys slip inside, shutting the door to the light of the hall outside. They're surrounded by their own personal darkness now.

The spacious room feels hot and all too cramped. Mark and Chris stand in the entryway, Beck turned halfway towards Mark, examining his fingers for something to do.

“Chris,” Mark breathes, his eyes searching Beck's face as soon as it turns towards him. His eyes are hopeful, hungry. Lips parted just slightly. They're pink and full and just so kissable.

Nobody makes a move. They just stand there. Watching. A little desperate.

Beck huffs. “Well don't just--” He sounds impatient as he grabs the front of Mark's shirt, pulling him in so their lips finally meet. Mark's hands return to Chris's hips and drags them closer, pressing into the kiss just as eagerly as Chris.

Their kiss isn't anything like what Mark imagined. It's hot and handsy and _needy_ on both ends. Beck slides his hands over Mark's back, one finding a place in his hair and the other pressing fingers against his lower back. He breaks away to press his lips to Mark's neck, guiding his head back with the hand in his hair.

Mark's skin is tingling and his heart is drumming in his ears with the sensation of it all. Chris's mouth is hot as he kisses and sucks on his neck and Mark is panting, broken moans escaping his parted lips. It's almost too much. The sensation is driving him insane. Going from years of no contact to being kissed like his life depends on it-- which it sort of does, if you ask Mark-- drives him insane. He's trembling from it. His hands come to tangle in the dark locks of Beck's hair, encouraging him. “God, Chris,” he groans, biting his lower lip.

Beck pulls back, panting a little as he stares at Mark. “I'm crazy about you,” he says. “That's why I asked you to live with me-- that's why I wore your dumb hoodies when we were back on The Hermes-- that's the reason for a lot of shit. God, I'm mad about you, Mark.” His voice comes out stricken as though he is afraid of what Watney will say in return. He sounds ready to be rejected.

Nodding, Mark makes a humming sound in his throat. “Me too. I've low key been into you since we first met. I like you more than duct tape. Duct tape, Chris.”

“Way to ruin the moment,” Chris laughs, breathless. He drags Mark into a tight hug, pressing his face to the crook of his neck.

Mark shrugs one shoulder. He sighs, content with the feeling of Chris's embrace. The smell of him is inviting, like misty woods and-- and home. He smells of something Mark would never get tired of coming home to. “Hey, shut up. Let me enjoy how good you make me feel.”

They kiss again, smiling lips against each others. It's slower this time. It's all so languid and gentle. Beck's fingers trace along Mark's cheeks, committing the feel of his face to memory. So they stand there, Mark pressed against the door and Chris against him, lips moving against one another in tender kisses. They hadn't moved from the entryway the entire time. Mark shifts against Chris with a soft sigh, breaking away.

“I don't know about you,” Mark yawns, “but I need a shower.” He tries to slip away from Chris's grasp but he tangles their fingers together. Mark leads them to the master bathroom without a second thought.

“I'll join you,” Chris mutters.

The two of them can't get enough of each other. It's all fluttering touches and eager kisses shared between them as they undress one another. When Mark's shirt finally comes off, Beck's eyes rake over his chest, a slight grin touching his lips. He leans in and presses kisses along Mark's collar bone. Fingers splay over his pecs as he lathes the protruding clavicle in kisses. Mark moans, tilting his head. He smacks Chris's bare back, dragging his blunt nails over the skin. “Quit stalling, you little shit. I'm not kissing your crusty ass again until we shower.”

Talking like this feels so normal to Mark. They'd already teased each other like this before, it's just more intimate now. About things that just friends wouldn't joke about.

Once undressed, Mark steps under the stream of water, moving back to let Beck in as well.

“Hey,” Mark says.

“What?” Chris replies. His eyes drift over Mark's naked form, far less discreetly than he probably intended.

“So you wore my hoodies when I was away? I _knew_ they smelled different.”

At this, Chris blushes. “I thought I could get away with telling you and you wouldn't catch it.” He smiles, bowing his head. Water slips over his shoulders and bare chest.

Mark laughs and cocks his head to the side. “It's cute. Why would you hide it?”

“'Figured you'd tease me about it,” he admits.

Well, he isn't wrong. Mark shrugs. “I got plenty of other things to tease you about.” Mark leans down and plucks the little bottle of shampoo from the soap basket. He squeezes the liquid into his palm and chucks the bottle at Chris and he barely catches it, fumbling with the wet plastic. A smile traces his lips and he lathers his hair with the soap. Chris does the same and it's silent between them. The only noise is the rushing of water through pipes so it can splatter against the tan marble floor. The next time they touch it's Chris combing his fingers through Mark's hair to help the water rinse the soap away. Mark leans in and kisses him. It's chaste yet affectionate. He pats Chris's hip, slipping his thumb over the bone in small circles.

“I like this,” Mark murmurs. “This is cool. You're cool.”

“Yeah, same. You aren't half bad yourself.” Beck chuckles and drapes his arms over Mark's shoulders, resting his head in the crook of his neck. And Mark's heart can't help but flutter. Just a little. It's all still new between them. They were affectionate before, but this amount of touching is all so new. It shouldn't be hard to get used to.

Mark and Chris exit the shower after showering off properly. They're pretty much glued to each other for the rest of the night. If it isn't kissing, it's little touches and the brush of fingers and skin.

It's comforting to Mark. He sleeps better than he has in years that night.

**

Mark can't stop smiling. He's giddy. So stupidly giddy and he knows his smile is contagious. Beck steals glances at him sometimes and starts smiling in the middle of talking. Their hands are laced together on the seat between them. They're going steady. Call it old fashioned, but that's the term Mark likes. Chris and Mark are exclusive. They skipped the tentative, awkward stage of dating. It seemed logical enough for them. Since they're already living together, it would be stupid to backtrack. Being friends for years prior doesn't hurt either. It only feels right to make it official.

Mark had brought it up when he thought about how he was going to introduce Beck. His parents had met him before, but only through phone calls and video messages while they were in the Astronaut Candidate program. Excitement buzzes in his chest as he thinks about introducing Chris as his boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ He hasn't been this excited about dating someone since... Ever. He has never been this happy to be dating someone.

Being in cars still bothers him, but it's not nearly as bad as being in a plane. From the turbulence to the scream of wind rushing around the shell, it was like being in hell. Legitimate fucking hell, just for him. He's pretty sure he broke Chris's hand with how hard he was gripping it. Three and a half hours of bone crushing anxiety. Chris was a good sport about it. He would stroke Mark's hair and mutter tender nothings to him. It did help, but the paranoia lingered.

 

The taxi turns down a familiar lane he hasn't seen in ages. Nostalgia hits Mark like a satellite in a wind storm. He's nervous to be home. It's not like his parents are going to disown him for having a boyfriend. He's just nervous.

Chris brushes his thumb over Mark's knuckles, helping him relax the grip he didn't even notice had tightened.

“Hey, you're fine,” he murmurs, continuing the soothing movement.

Mark nods. “I'm fine. I'm excited to see them. It didn't hit me 'til just now how fucking freaked out I am to see them.” He laughs, tilting his head back against the rest. “Fuck.” He barks out with an anxious laugh.

Their taxi slows to a stop in front of a pale yellow house. The craftsman beckons Mark inside and his heart thrums an anxious rhythm in his throat. The pair exit the car and take their things. Chris hands the driver some money and he putters away down the street.

Mark stares at the home. He's frozen there, eyes darting over the frame, across the front porch, over the trees on either side. The trees that have been there since before he was born. An abandoned wooden swing hangs in the shadows of one of them. A hand on his shoulder wakes him from his trance. He's raising his arms, gesturing to the house.

“Welcome to my not-so-humble abode,” he announces like it's the greatest marvel in the world. In a way it is. This is where he was born, where he lived for years. It'll probably be turned into a museum in memory of him one day. Kind of like Anne Frank's or Monet's homes. He's going to be remembered in history books and stories. The world is going to know his name years after he's long gone. He can feel Chris's eyes on him as he lingers again.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you actually going to _come inside_ ,” a familiar voice teases from the porch. Mark's mother stands at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips and a smile on her crinkled face. A streak of silver hair reaches from the roots of her hair into her tight bun, but the rest of it is still brown as the day he left.

He can feel fat tears welling in his eyes and he breaks into a sprint towards her. He feels like a child again, running for the comfort of his mother's arms. They wrap around him, strong as ever, and he lifts her up, squeezing her petit frame to his chest. A pathetic sob breaks in his throat and he's grinning, laughing and crying a little too.

There were times back on Mars when he thought he would never see her again.

He holds on to her for dear life until she practically pries herself from his arms so she can stand up. She brushes her apron off and huffs, eyeing her son with a pointed stare. It doesn't take long for her to smile and laugh, hugging him again.

“Oh, my boy, my sweet boy! I missed you _so much!_ ” she croons, stroking his hair.

“I missed you too, mom,” He whispers. That's all he can manage. The lump in his throat stops him from saying anything else. Happiness fills his chest.

Chris clears his throat and the pair look at him as though they'd forgotten he was there.

“Mrs. Watney,” he prompts. A smile is on his face, still lingering from watching their reunion. “It's wonderful to finally meet you.”

“That's Meredith to you, young man,” she chides. Mrs. Watney descends from the porch, shuffling over to grab Chris in an aggressive hug, knocking his extended hand between them. “Oh, you put that down. I'm a hugger and that's no exception for you, especially considering what you've done for this family.”

Chris is blushing, a bashful smile on his lips. “It was a team effort, really. You should be thanking Commander Lewis, really.”

Meredith clucks her tongue. “Well, she's not here is she? You saved my boy, Chris. You sacrificed over a year of your life to rescue my son.” She provides him with a proud smile. The, she's grabbing his arm and guiding him towards the house. Chris grabs ahold of his duffel before he can leave it and brushes by Mark with his mother.

Mark walks down the path and picks his own bag up, full of new clothes they bought him in Miami. They're enough to last until they get to Houston. Since things didn't go as planned, they had sent Mark's clothing back to his family rather than keeping it at NASA, waiting for an astronaut that would never return.

The house looks exactly the same aside from some magazines on the coffee table in the front room. In a way it feels like he never left. Maybe the past few years were a dream. Maybe he's still dreaming. Things are finally going well for Mark? That almost never happens.

Mark stands in the living room, taking in the oak furniture and champagne rays of light flooding in from the windows. His pace is leisure as he makes his way for the kitchen.

The sound of shoes creaking down the stairs stops him. Slacks and brown shoes appear around the bend of the staircase, and then the rest of his dad comes in to view. His eyes light up when he sees his son. His age is beginning to show in the lines of his face. His side burns are grey, too. “Look at you,” he beams. Mark's father is finally at the bottom of the staircase, taking in the sight of his son. “Welcome home, rocket man.”

Mark laughs. “I just spent the last couple'a years in space with nothing but disco music to listen to, and that's the first thing you say to me?”

The both of them are laughing now and his father slings his arms around him, claiming the hug he'd been dying for. “I missed you.”

Mark is about to reply when Meredith's voice cuts in, loud and commanding. “John! Mark! Don't be rude to our guest! He's not here to listen to me gab!”

They can hear Beck's laughter waft from the kitchen. Both father and son meander into the kitchen. Beck is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a slice of pie in front of him. Meredith stands to his right, holding the pie his slice came from. Mark sits down to his left and his father takes his seat at the head of the table. His mother loves to bake, and it's cold enough for her to have an excuse to. There's more likely than not a few pies in the kitchen.

“Mark, honey, do you want some pie? I made pumpkin and apple.”

Exactly.

Mark's eyebrows raise. “You made a pumpkin and apple pie? I'll pass.” He knows what she meant. Chris laughs. It's one of those full bodied laughs Mark loves. It puts a smile on his own face.

Meredith clucks her tongue and moves from the table. The sound of china clinking on marble rings dull in the kitchen. Mark is presented with a slice of pumpkin pie. A pretty little swirl of whipped cream accents the top.

Pumpkin pie is his favourite. Leave it to a mother to remember. She brings John a slice of apple pie and sits at the other end of the table with a cup of tea.

They all talk about nothing for a while. It's mostly Mark's mother who does the talking. Chris's hand lingers on Mark's thigh. It's a chaste afterthought on Beck's part but Mark likes the possessiveness of it. The boys listen as she recounts embarrassing stories from when Mark was young.

“Oh quit whining,” she chuckles. “You've always been a mama's boy. 's not like you hide it.”

“You really don't,” Chris feels the need to add. His eyes twinkle with laughter. In this moment, everything feels perfect. He's at home with his family and the guy he's been pining over for years now, eating pumpkin pie.

He feels safe. Mark almost forgot what feeling safe was like.

Chris and Mark's parents keep talking while he finishes off his second slice of pie, not really paying attention to the conversation.

“Chris and I are dating,” he blurts out, not really realizing he had cut his mother off. Mark looks up and around the table. His father is sitting there with a piece of pie halfway to his mouth. A crumb falls back on to his plate. His mother looks a little surprised. Beck is white as a sheet, and his fingers are digging into Mark's jeans. The silence is only a momentary lapse.

“”bout fuckin' time,” his father mutters, shovelling the dessert into his mouth. His mother sips her tea and nods.

“You could have approached this more delicately,” Chris hisses. He looks like he's about to fall out of his chair. Then he speaks louder so Mark's parents can hear. “I'm glad you two are taking this well. I hope it's not going to be a problem. I don't want to cause anything...”

“You kidding?” Meredith asks. “My son is dating a fucking doctor. You think I got a problem with that? Listen. You're a nice boy, Chris. I'm happy my son is dating you. He could have done so much worse.” With this last comment she turns a pointed gaze to Mark. He knows who she is referring to, but now isn't the time to argue about high school flings. “Don't you ever let Mark treat you like shit, alright? He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

“He's been nothing but good to me,” Chris affirms. His hand loosens and he runs his palm over Mark's leg in slow circles. His hand lifts to pull Mark into a side hug around the shoulders. Mark's head comes to rest in the crook of Beck's neck.

Mark feels high. He's tired and zoned out and doesn't feel like doing much. He just sits there listening to the praise his parents rain on Chris. And Chris is just eating it up. The only thing Mark contributes to the conversation until he's asked if he's alright is “That's _doctor_ Beck.”

“You alright honey?” Meredith asks. She squeezes his shoulder when she comes by to take his plate. Her hand is warm, familiar even through the fabric of his shirt. Her touch feels just as much like home as the house does.

Mark nods, lifting his head from Chris's shoulder. “Yeah. I'm really tired. It's been a long time since I've had a good nights sleep.”

Chris bobs his head in agreement.

“You two get some rest. We don't mind. Just be down in time for dinner.”

“Alright,” Mark answers. He and Chris stand from the table and his mother stops him.

“Dinner is at 6:30 sharp,” she warns.

Mark nods, tilting his head back in an exaggerated sigh. “I _know_ , mom.” Before she can say anything else, Mark grabs Chris and they go upstairs to the guest room. The bed is big enough for the both of them to enjoy. Mark would have chosen his room if his parents hadn't converted it into an office years ago.

Mark throws himself onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers back. He lays face first against the duvet and groans. “How much time do we have till dinner?”

“Dunno,” Chris mutters. The bed dips beside Mark when Chris lays down beside him. He sounds pretty tired himself. Like he does when he's just woken up in the morning.

A tingling sensation runs down Mark's spine when Beck's fingers comb through his hair. He sighs in contentment, reaching out to place his hand on his boyfriend's arm. The word 'boyfriend' in reference to Beck makes him shiver as much as his touch did. Mark sits up. Chris is looking at him, a gleam of fondness in his eyes. “I'm so glad I have you back,” he breathes. Beck shifts on to his back and cups the side of Mark's face, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone and making him grin like an idiot. Beck makes him so fucking happy. Just so _happy_. He's a little breathless with all the feelings Chris works up in his stomach. Adoration for this man, this huge fucking dork that he can't help but love the shit out of, surges through his chest.

And then they're kissing again. The angle is a little awkward, but Mark fixes it by laying on top of Chris, resting his hands on his shoulders. The whole thing leisure and sweet and Mark can't get enough of it. The softness of Beck's lips feel so perfect against his own. He sighs happily into the kiss, allowing his eyes to slide shut. Chris's arms come to rest around him, fingers tracing random shapes over Mark's back.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, warm and content.

**

Houston is warm during autumn. At least when it's compared to the weather Mark is used to back in Chicago this time of year. He doesn't mind it though. Not having to bundle up excessively is a plus. Clothes feel constricting if he wears too much.

It's been about a year and a half since Mark and Chris had visited his parents in Chicago, and a year and a half since they moved in together. Mark had been right in assuming his mother and father would want to hear all about Mars. They remind him of his current students. All the questions they ask him stirred up some horrific memories, but he didn't mind so much since he was helping them. They would need to be prepared to go into space themselves. That's why they were in the Astronaut Candidate Program in the first place: to learn how to survive.

The only times that these sort of questions were during interviews. He and the rest of the Ares 3 crew would be interviewed this evening for yet another followup regarding his time on Mars and the brave rescue mission his companions embarked on for him. Typically after a year and a half of life going on its merry fucking way, people would be tired of hearing about one certain thing. Not this, apparently. His life was the story of the century, and all Mark wanted to do was forget about it.

And boy, had he tried. There were many nights when he drank himself half to death in hopes of drowning the memories of being stuck all alone on that stupid fucking hell rock. Chris had begged him to stop when he found out. He looked so sad when it happened, and it tore Mark to bits inside. He never wanted to hurt Chris, so he stopped immediately. Mark took to gardening as a more positive outlet. He was able to wrangle an entire rooftop out of NASA for it-- of course using the fact that they almost left his ass for dead on an isolated planet to leverage things his way. They gave it to him without hesitation, and even pitched in a couple thousand dollars to purchase the things he wanted. Of course, he had to record the progression of the garden. There's no way NASA would fund anything if it wasn't being used for science. And everyone knows the difference between fucking around and experimentation is if you're writing things down or not.

So when Mark isn't teaching his students, he's sat up in his garden doing work or enjoying himself. Right now is a pleasure trip. He needed to get away from evaluations for a while, so the garden is where he retreats to. He's sat beneath an apple tree that's grown surprisingly well, providing some shade for him to bask in. The garden beds he built himself stand off to his left, yielding a series of tall tomato plants. There's all sorts of plants in his garden, ranging from edible to floral and prickly. Theres a palette of sunflowers nearby, raising their brown faces to the afternoon sun, and basil and sage overflow in their respective box. Mark planted some roses too, due to popular request (aka his mom demanding he plants some to give to Chris eventually). They had done well thanks to his amazing botany powers, and would be fine to pick soon. A few have already bloomed in an explosion of crimson beauty.

Mark doesn't remember drifting off, but the next thing he knows is his phone is buzzing in his pocket, startling him awake. The sun is creeping to the horizon and everything is bathed in a golden light when he opens his eyes. “LEWIS” followed by a potato emoji flashes on his screen and Mark presses the “accept call” button, bringing the device to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Hey Watney. Where are you? Did you forget about the interview? We've been trying to get ahold of you for a while now.”

We? Mark hadn't heard his phone going off at all. “Sort of,” he mutters. “I got a little side tracked. When botany calls...” Mark's eyes drift over the garden one last time before he stands up and heads for the stairwell. “Where are we supposed to be again?”

“I texted you the location.” There's a pause before Lewis is asking, “Are you alright, Mark? You sound kind of distant.”

“I'm fine, Mel. I'll see you soon,” he mutters before ending the call. His phone displays 2 missed calls from Beck, one from Martinez, and one from Lewis. There's a couple voicemails from Chris too. He'll listen to them later.

The truth is, he's not fine. Not even close to what the definition of fine is. Maybe as far as looks go he's fine, but not how he feels. He's anxious and dreading this interview. They've been interviewed by this channel before and the interviewer thinks it's funny to ask really personal questions and watch people squirm.

He can't ditch this interview or Teddy would never let him hear the end of it. He'd probably be fired, too.

“What a dick punch,” Mark grumbles. He's sitting in his car now, finger drifting over the power button. “Just do it,” he sighs. “It's like ripping off a bandaid... For a whole hour. Fuck.” He jams his finger into the button, listening as the engine purrs to life. The interview is scheduled to start in just under half an hour, which is more than enough time to get there.

Mark arrives at the studio and hands his car off to a valet as he's ushered inside to be prepped. The first person he sees is Chris. He looks worried. Then, he sees Mark and a flood of relief overcomes his features.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up.” Chris says, setting his phone down on the coffee table in front of him.

“You say that like I've done that before,” Mark quips. He cocks his head to the side, a sort of smirk pulling on his lips.

“You _have_ done that before, Mark.” Chris sighs, shaking his head. He can't help the smile he has, however.

That's true. Mark had ditched an interview before, but only once. It had been a particularly bad day and his anxiety wasn't about to let him function normally, much less let someone ask about the _cause_ of anxiety. That's what his therapist is for. And when he talks to his therapist, it isn't broadcast on national television. “I wonder why,” he replies. Mark throws his arms around Chris and plants a quick kiss on his lips. They aren't out to the public yet, but their friends know what's happening between them. “I think we should tell them,” Mark blurts. “Give everyone the shock of their lives. I can see it now: NASA sends queer astronauts to Mars. Surprise, America!”

Chris tilts his head back with a deep laugh. “It wouldn't be a bad time to come out. I know Martinez brought his family and Lewis brought her husband. I think Beth's boyfriend is here too. Why not? If it comes up, let's tell them.”

“Fuck yes!” Mark pumps his fist, making a pleased grunt. He's been trying to convince Beck that they should go public for a while now. Chris was never exactly against it. It was more that they didn't have a platform to announce it by and Chris didn't want to go out of his way to find a talk show where they could announce it on.

“I'm glad you're happy about it. I want this interview to be as painless as possible for you, sweetheart.” Chris squeezes Mark's shoulder. His voice is reassuring.

“It'll be easier since I get to hold your hand through it,” Mark offers.

**

The interview starts off fucking horribly. The set is hot and there's an audience of people watching their every move and Mark feels like he's going to die. The whole gang is there aside from Vogel since he's back in Germany. The interviewer- Sharon Johnston- has been asking the most annoyingly personal questions. She added a couple good ones in there, like how well everyone has adapted to life back on Earth. Mark is the topic of interest, and Sharon keeps asking about his personal life and really weird things about his time on Mars.

It's just shit until a certain topic is mentioned.

“This is something I am almost absolutely sure the whole world is dying to know,” Sharon prompts. “At least I know I am. Is there a special someone in your life, Mark? I mean, this is a very pressing question, especially considering who's here tonight. Lewis, Martinez, and Vogel are all married. Johanssen has a boyfriend, and Beck... Well, you and Beck seem to be the two bachelors out. Or am I wrong?”

“It's doctor Beck, actually,” Mark repeats for the second time this interview. A smug grin spreads over Mark's face when he catches a look of realization growing on Lewis's features. “And yeah. I am seeing someone at the moment.” Mark's hand drops into Beck's and he laces their fingers together, making it clear what he is implying. “I'm surprised you didn't catch that before. Reporters are usually quite perceptive. So yeah. Chris is my boyfriend. Surprise!”

Martinez chuckles, but other than that, the studio is silent. Someone in the audience cheers, triggering an explosion of applause and whistling and hooting. Sharon Johnston is white as a sheet.

From then on, it's easy for Mark to exact his revenge for all the weird questions Sharon had asked him. Any time she asks him a weird question, he manages to direct his answer back to his relationship with Chris. She looks like she wants to murder them both, being the Texan Christian she is. Even though it entertains Mark, he's absolutely relieved when the interview ends and they can go home. Mark is giddy and smug and all too hyper from the reaction he got with their coming out.

“We gotta go home right now this instant,” he tells Chris, dragging him by the hand to his car once the valet brings it around.

“What's the rush?” Chris asks, sliding into the passenger seat of Mark's Tesla.

They live pretty close to the studio so it doesn't take long for them to get to their neighbourhood. Mark and Chris sit in silent for the time being. Mark tries to figure out what he wants to say. He knows what he wants to say, but not how. “I'm... Chris. I'm ready.”

“What?” Chris sounds astonished. Mark can see Chris turned towards him now. “Mark, are you sure?”

Mark nods his head. “I'm sure. I just didn't want to rush things before, but I'm ready now. I just-- shit. You're so fucking great, Chris.”

Chris is laughing, leaning his head back against the car window. “I thought you weren't going to let me fuck you 'til we got married or something.”

“You already planning the rest of our lives together, huh Beck?” Mark grins, swatting at his boyfriend. “I didn't want to fuck anything up by rushing into it.” He smiles at the thought of marrying Chris. The name Mark Watney-Beck sounds pretty good to him. Same for Chris Beck-Watney. Nice. Doctor and Mr. Beck. Also nice.

“You and I have been living together since we first started dating. We haven't exactly been going about this the slowest way, baby.” Chris hums. He traces his fingers up Mark's arm just how Mark likes it.

“I fail to see your point.”

He might be right, but still. This is different. More special. Before, Mark never really had any inhibitions about screwing someone early on, but with Chris... It would feel wrong. This is special. A sort of milestone in their relationship. He can actually see them married with kids years down the road. Chris wants kids. He's mentioned it a couple times before, but they never explicitly sat down to talk about it. Mark is okay with kids. He wouldn't mind raising a few with Chris. But right now, they're about to fuck and having kids on the brain while they do isn't ideal. Mark has to psyche himself up for this. He drums his hands against the steering wheel, twisting it when they pull into the car park of their condo.

He's nervous. Boy is he nervous. It's not like he and Chris haven't ever done anything together before. They've gotten into some pretty heavy petting but never penetration or the like.

The walk up to their condo is brisk and it's difficult for them not to stop in the hallway and fuck right there. They're both eager, and Mark can feel it. He knows Chris has been patient with him despite wanting it so badly. He never forced himself on Mark.

It feels like the time back in Miami all over again as Mark fumbles with his keys. They're inside and Beck pulls Mark over to the couch, bringing them down together. Their lips are together almost immediately. Chris takes Mark by the hips and Mark rests his on Chris's shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair. After all the times they've done this, Mark should be used to it. He isn't. He still feels like the touch starved guy who just walked off Mars. It feels so good having Beck's hands all over his body-- so right-- he's hard just from them making out. Chris slides his hands lower to grasp Mark's rear and he pulls away from Mark's mouth to kiss his neck, sucking a mark into the tender flesh. Mark tangles a hand in Chris's hair the way he likes, tugging a little as he groans.

“Do we have lube and condoms?” Chris asks, sighing against his partners skin.

Mark makes a little _mmhmmm_ sound in his throat. He shifts himself so he's straddling Chris's lap. Their hips are pressed together and Chris rolls up against him, drawing out a low moan from the both of them. Mark ducks his head and drags his lips along Chris's chiseled jaw, taking the lobe of his ear between his teeth. Chris's ears have always been sensitive. Mark knows just how to get him worked up, and Chris for him too. Beck's hands slide under Marks shirt and push at it impatiently. They pull apart long enough to remove their tops, moving back in to lathe the newly bare skin in kisses and bites. Chris loves Mark's chest, and he shows it by peppering tender kisses across it. Head leaned back, Mark pants softly, running his fingers through Chris's hair to urge him on. He manages to gasp out words of encouragement. Mark grinds his hips into Beck's movements, and he's kissing at his ear and shoulder again, teeth grazing soft skin.

Mark's pants are starting to feel tight and he wants them _off_. His fingers curl into the top of Chris's pants and he pulls him up as he stands. “Come on,” he says quietly, pressing their lips together. The shift in position leaves Chris a little confused, but he understands what's happening when Mark guides them towards the bedroom.

They settle on the bed, Mark laid back on it with Chris on top of him. Beck lavishes Mark's chest in tender kisses, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other placed against the duvet to hold himself up. His hands work to undo Mark's trousers and he leans up to kiss his lover again, singing into it eagerly.

Mark's hand comes to palm Chris's cock through his jeans, feeling the outline of his hardened shaft through the material. Chris groans, lips parting, and Mark takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, exploring the warmth of his mouth. Chris's hips stutter against Mark's cupped hand and his fingers twitch back to life, undoing Mark's pants and pulling them down as far as his thighs. It takes Mark lifting his hips off the bed and kicking his shoes off before the pants meet the floor in a heap.

“H-hold on,” Mark gasps, slipping his legs up between Chris's thighs to reach his feet.

Chris gives him a quizzical look, wondering why he's not being fondled. “What are you doing?”

“'m not fucking you with my socks on,” he mutters. Mark's socks come off quickly and he pulls Chris in before he can laugh too hard, nipping at his lower lip to shut him up. His hands come to tug at Beck's jeans and he pulls them down, letting Beck go through the same routine as Mark just did, managing not to break their kiss for the most part.

Chest pounding and face burning, Mark can't help the pathetic moan that escapes him when Chris finally touches his cock. The friction of his hand palming, groping at it makes him tremble, broken sounds falling from his lips.

Chris moves his lips to Mark's ear, whispering filthy words to him, only exaggerating the stimulation Mark is feeling. “You sound so pretty, baby. So good. I can't imagine what you'll sound like when I put it in,” he groans, voice low and husky. The dirty talk is driving Mark _insane_. He's whimpering and panting quiet “ _yes_ ”'s when it's called for. His cock is aching between his legs, all but neglected. Instead of touching himself, he reaches between them to slip his fingers into Beck's underwear, calloused fingers wrapping around his cock to provide a slow tug. Composure all but lost Chris's words falter and he presses his lips to the skin below Mark's ear, stifling a moan.

“The stuff is in the bedside table,” Mark mutters, extending a finger in the direction of the drawer. His hand slides off of Beck's cock and he pulls his underwear off, tossing them to the pile where his pants are. Chris leans over him and tugs open the drawer. Mark can hear him pushing things around and the wood sliding shut again a moment later. Mark is palming himself while he waits, head tilted back and eyes shut. His heart is racing in his chest from both stimulation and nerves. He's dizzy with it. Chris's hand on his thigh only furthers the rush of adrenaline in his veins.

“Babe,” Chris mutters, the bed creaking beneath them as he leans up to press his lips to Mark's. “Mark. C'mon, stay with me.”

The clicking of a cap being opened draws Mark's attention and he peers down to find Beck coating his fingers in lube. He sets the bottle down and uses his newly slicked hand to wrap around the base of Mark's cock, just below where he had been stroking himself. Beck gives one slow, teasing tug to the shaft. “I need you to be good while I prep you, alright? No touching your cock.” Chris is sure to meet Mark's gaze, a question of approval in his eyes to see if what he's doing is alright. His fist pumps around Mark's erection, movements slow and shallow.

Mark nods slightly, muttering, “You're the boss.” A moan breaks at his lips when Chris squeezes his shaft just a little before letting go, squirting more lube into his hand.

Beck takes one of Mark's legs and hikes it up, letting Mark take the hint to slide the other outwards, giving Beck better accessibility. His fingers find Mark's entrance, pressing and circling it slowly. He pushes one in, tentative and slow, pausing after the second knuckle to allow Mark to get used to the feeling. He's panting and gasping, a shiver running up his spine from the feeling and thinking about where all this is leading to. His fingers curl into the duvet and he attempts to steady his breathing as Chris moves his hand, working it until he can slide a second inside. Beck leans down to kiss Mark's parted lips, slipping his tongue in as well. Mark leans in to the kiss for more, taking hold of Chris's hair to keep him close. The only sound is their wet kisses and the creak of the bed when Beck shifts occasionally. Mark makes a sound of protest when a third finger nudges at his entrance.

“What?” Chris implores.

“I'm ready enough,” Mark mutters, leaning his head back. He just wants Beck's cock inside of him already.

Chris sighs and shakes his head, pressing his lips to Mark's neck. “I don't want to hurt you, or even risk it. I know you want to enjoy this, and I know _I_ don't want to be worried about fucking you too roughly.” He doesn't even wait for Mark to reply before he presses his third finger in alongside the others, adjusting to ease the uncomfortable tug at Mark's entrance.

Mark know's he's right, so he doesn't complain. He shifts a little to press his lips to Beck's temple, combing his fingers through dark locks. “You're so good to me,” he croons, groaning softly when Chris scissors his fingers.

The moment lasts and they mutter sweet nothings to one another, kissing and leaning in to each other's touch. Chris finally deems Mark ready enough and slides his fingers out, leaving Mark with a feeling of emptiness in their place. He rests back on his elbows to watch as Chris pumps his hand over his cock a couple times before ripping open a condom. Beck rolls it on and sits back on his haunches, eyes roaming up and down Mark's bare body, pausing on his face. His hand strays over his cock again, spreading lube over it and getting him off at the same time. Their eyes lock and Beck kneels forward, crawling over Mark.

Mark's legs come to wrap around his waist, knees resting against hips as Chris positions himself with Mark's entrance. One hand on Mark's hip and the other on his shaft, Beck guides himself forward, inching in slowly. Mark trembles and clutches Chris's arm for support, gasping a soft _please_. Chris leans in and kisses Mark again, stifling his moans as he slides deeper. His hand comes to grab Mark's, lacing their fingers and pressing their hands into the bed beside his head. He rolls his hips, revelling in the tight heat around his cock. They lay like this for a moment, grasping one another and panting, until Chris regains enough composure to thrust his hips, starting an even rhythm. Mark moans, arching off the bed a little and squeezing Beck's hand.

Beck is cursing, muttering about how good it feels and he breathes a quiet “shit”.

Mark makes a little sound, a breathless laugh escaping his pink lips. “Okay, you _cannot_ say that while you're inside me.”

Chris laughs, pressing his face into the crook of Mark's neck. “Shut up and enjoy this,” he groans.

Mark falls silent again other than the broken moans and sighs coming from his lips. He drags his fingers over Chris's neck in a slow rhythm, listening to the sounds of pleasure escaping against his shoulder. Chris's hips stutter, driving his cock deeper, right into that sweet spot inside Mark, dragging a loud groan from him. The hand on Mark's hip tightens, allowing Beck to roll his hips in a way that presses the tip of his cock into Mark's prostate again and again. Mark is crying out, pathetic whines and wrecked sobs breaking in his throat from the stimulation. Chris grunts out words of praise to follow his sounds, thumb tracing over the contours of Mark's hand. Neither of them lasts long. It's all so new between them and it's been so long since either of them have touched another person this way. It's Mark who comes first, almost completely untouched. With a fucked out sob and a tilt of his head, his release paints stripes across his stomach, sticky and hot. Chris strokes his cock through the orgasm, reaches his own climax a few uneven thrusts later, face pressed against Mark's neck. Chris relaxes his muscles, laying flat on top of Mark. He ignores the feeling of Mark's come against his skin, too pleased to give a shit. Mark grunts a half-hearted protest and lays still beneath him. They refrain from talking for several minutes, letting the extent of their communication be tender touches and happy sighs. Mark is the first to speak.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, pressing his face into Beck's hair. He doesn't regret saying it. It's true. No matter what Chris says back, he said it and more importantly he meant it.

Chris sits up, eyes searching for Mark's. His face is that of surprise, but a delighted smile stretches across his lips. “I love you too,” he admits. There's so much sincerity and affection in his voice, Mark can feel tears prickle in his eyes. He smiles back, laughing with the sheer joy of the moment.

Their next kiss is passionate and sweet and so full of pure _adoration_ for one another. When they shower off and get ready for bed, it's like they just started dating all over again. It's full of shy glances and giddy smiles. This happy aura lasts them until they're in bed, falling asleep curled up with one another.

That isn't how they wake up, though. It's early in the morning by the look of their alarm clock, and Mark is wide awake. He has no idea why. The room is silent and still dark. The sun isn't even up yet. He can't recall having any bad dreams. He's just _up_. Mark looks over to see Chris still fast asleep beside him, a slight furrow to his brow. There isn't any reason why Mark should be awake, and yet he is. Mark flops down on the bed again, pressing his cheek into the pillow. He's ready to go back to sleep, until he hears a slight whimper behind him. It becomes clearer when a louder moan follows it, then the sheets are shifting. Mark turns over to see Beck on his back now, eyes shut tight and a frown on his face.

“Chris?” Mark whispers. He isn't sure if Beck is awake or what. When no reply comes, it's obvious he's still asleep. Beck is a heavy sleeper, and a vivid dreamer too. It looks like he's having a nightmare. A pang of guilt hits Mark in the gut. He grabs Chris's shoulder and shakes him gently, calling his name again. Nothing. Mark shakes him again, a little rougher this time. Beck's eyes open and he's staring at Mark, bleary and confused. He looks like he's in pain.

“Mark...?” More confusion. Chris's eyes squint and when he realizes he's awake, he looks absolutely shocked. “Oh, thank God,” he moans. His arms are around Mark in a flash, pulling him down against his chest and holding him tight. Mark can feel his breathing shudder. A sob follows. It's from Chris. His lips are pursed and he's blinking back tears. “I thought.. God I thought you were--” his voice fails him when another sob breaks at his lips, and Beck is curling around Mark as if his life depended on it. Mark's arms wrap around his torso, drawing him in tight. Beck tucks his head into the crook of Mark's neck, pained sobbing rendering him unable to speak. “It was so real, Mark... I missed and you... You...” More crying. It's strained, fearful. It takes Mark's tired brain to put together what he's talking about. He dreamed he had missed catching Mark. Beck had dreamed about it before. Dreamed about losing Mark to the void of space on their fly by. Of failing and costing Mark his life. It was one of the things that still gripped Beck like this.

Mark couldn't do anything but whisper soft nothings, attempting to console him. “I'm here, sweetheart, I'm here. You got me. None of that happened, Chris. You got me. We're on Earth, in Houston, Texas, in our apartment. You got me, you got me, you got me. Now I got you, okay?”

Chris manages to nod, his hair scrubbing against the underside of Mark's chin. He's quieted down now, sniffling a little now and then. “Okay,” he manages. Chris's voice is hoarse, broken. He sounds absolutely wrecked. Mark strokes his hair, fingers combing through the curl of his locks. “I can't lose you again,” Chris wavers, fingers pressing into Mark's back. “Not again. You're all I have, all I want...”

And Mark isn't sure if his exhaustion is making him say this, but Beck's words make his heart flutter and his head dizzy. He continues to run his fingers through Chris's hair, whispering soft _I love you_ 's in his ear. Mark can't find the words to express what he's feeling, so he just holds on. Holds Beck tight until his muscles are aching and keeps on holding him. He's not about to let go of the best thing that's ever happened to him.

**

Two years pass from the night they confessed to one another. Mark and Chris have been dating for over 3 years now, and they're in the market for a house. They've found one. It's in a nice neighbourhood, close to NASA and a decent school district. They bought a dog too. Her name is Honey. Mark found her on Craigslist and he loves the retriever to death.

Mark is sitting in his lecture hall, packing his things up for the day. He's ready to leave and enjoy the weekend with Chris and Honey.

Leaving is always a bit of a challenge. He'll get to the door just fine, but when it comes to opening it, he feels naked. It's been like that ever since Mark got back to Earth. Ever since he spent a year and a half getting used to putting on an EVA suit to protect himself from being killed by Mars's atmosphere. He feels naked. Like if he opens the door, he'll implode immediately. It always takes a minute of working up the courage to twist the handle. No matter how many times Mark reminds himself he's back on Earth, it's still difficult. Thing have gotten easier, though. It takes less for him to calm his nerves now, so Mark is only stuck standing behind the door for about thirty seconds. He pulls it open, every fibre in his being telling him to shut it right now right this second. Nothing happens. Clearly. He enters the hall, allowing the heavy door to shut behind him.

His phone is ringing now, vibrating and jingling that little tune Beck set for his contact. Mark pulls it out of his pocket, bringing the device to his ear after he presses the answer button. “Yeah?”

“Hey sweetheart,” Chris's voice crackles to life. “Listen, I'm up in your oh so humble abode right now. It's looking great. Why don't you come up and we can relax for a while? I heard the sunset is going to be killer tonight.”

Mark smiles, nodding his head even though Beck can't see. “Yeah, I'll be right up.” He loves having Beck in his garden. It's nice to be praised for something he's worked so hard on for years now. And sharing it with someone so special doesn't hurt either. He makes his way up to the garden, a slight smile stuck on his lips. Things have been wonderful for him and Beck. Aside from the occasional flare up of post traumatic stress they both experience, that is.

On the roof, Beck is sitting on the bench under the ash tree in the big wooden pot, like he usually does. It seemed a little fucked up to plant a tree in something made of another tree, and that's why Mark did it. It's also a nice container. The tree has grown tall, its branches stretching and bending over the wrought iron and wood bench. Mark walks over, taking his seat beside Beck. He smiles, reaching out to put an arm around Mark's shoulders. Mark leans in to it, resting his head on Chris's shoulder. His glasses tilt a little, but he can't be bothered to fix them. Being in Beck's embrace leaves him content, at ease.

“How was your day?” Mark asks, eyes scanning the horizon of the city over the ledge of the roof.

Chris kisses the top of Mark's head, nuzzling his face into his hair. “It was great. Really, really great, actually. There's a good chance I'm getting that promotion. Can you believe it?”

“'course I can. You're a great doctor, and you'd be a damn great chief of medicine.” Mark sits up, adjusting so he's sat against Beck, their hips pressed along one another.

He can see Chris smile, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with it. “I was kind of expecting something more gallows-y out of you.”

Mark shakes his head. “Not today. I'm not really in the mood to make jokes like that. This is too domestic of a moment for it. I feel like we're an old married couple, honestly. And when you're old and married, death is pretty foreseeable. Man, it must suck to be old.” Mark muses, tilting his face towards the sky.

Chris chuckles, shaking against Mark with it. “That reminds me, actually. I have something for you.”

“All _right_ ,” Mark exclaims. “Whaddaya got for me? What is it? It's not a-- Oh my _God_ , Chris. Why? Why do you hate me so?”

Chris pulls a potato out of his pocket. Mark stares down at it disdainfully, whining when Chris puts it in his hand. It feels smooth like it's been washed, and Mark wants to chuck it over the edge of the roof. The last time he did that it hit Teddy Sanders's car. He got an earful about the dent in the hood. Here Chris is, having the time of his life, laughing like he's just heard the worlds best joke. Mark tells the worlds best jokes, so that's how he knows that's what that laugh sounds like. “It's a present. It's actually really important.”

“You just handed me a potato. A fucking tuber. I'm thinking about castrating you right about now.” Mark can't hide the smile on his face as he stares at the shitty brown oval of carbs. The texture on the underside of it feels weird. A little damp against his skin.

Chris presses his face into Mark's shoulder, laughing still. “Turn it over. Come on, Mark! Humour me! Turn the-- turn the stupid thing over! Mark, oh my God.” Tears threaten the corners of Beck's eyes as he laughs at the faces and protests Mark is providing.

“Why do I have to put up with your starchy shenanigans?” Mark snorts. He turns the potato over in his hand, breath catching when his eyes fall on it. There are words carved into the flesh of it. Two simple words that he can barely comprehend. Mark's fingers tighten on the potato. “Of all the ways you could have asked...” His voice is cut off by a lump in his throat.

“MARRY ME?” is etched into the potato, glaring up at Mark in challenge.

He looks up when Chris slides off the bench. He's kneeling in front of Mark, one hand raised to him. A golden band is pinched between thumb and forefinger. “How opposed are you to the idea of spending the rest of your life with me? Because I mean, to me it sounds really grea--”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me, you fucking idiot,” Mark sighs, leaning down and grabbing Beck by the shoulders to press their lips together. Tears stream down his cheeks and Chris pulls him into a tight embrace. The both of them are smiling like dorks, making the kiss messy and just so happy.

Over Chris's shoulder, Mark can see the rest of the Ares 3 crew (and family) crowding over, a video camera in Lewis's hand. Martinez wolf whistles and everyone is smiling from ear to ear. It's been far too long since Mark last saw his friends, so a delighted sob breaks in his throat when he sees them. They all pile together, wrapping the couple in a hot group hug. Each of them are crying their congratulations, slapping Mark on the back and tousling his hair. He's so happy to see them, to be surrounded in so much love. Mark is so overwhelmed with happiness, he feels like he's dreaming. This is the happiest day of his life so far.


End file.
